


Troubling His Own House

by MissWoodhouse



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Inherit the Wind, Laurens Family Drama, Lawyers, Scopes Monkey Trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWoodhouse/pseuds/MissWoodhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1925, and the greatest legal minds of the generation (and some verbose reporters) are converged in a small town courthouse, where biology teacher John Laurens stands trial for a crime worse than murder.  For teaching his students to think.</p><p>Or, an Inherit the Wind AU, where Burr is “a better lawyer than me” (aka Drummond), Hamilton is “an obnoxious, arrogant, loudmouth bother” (aka Hornbeck), and Madison is “being intransigent” (aka Brady).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Calm Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm playing fast and loose with Inherit the Wind, Hamilton, and the real-life historical events involved in both, but bear with me because the parallels work in so many different ways (I hope).
> 
> **Major Character Death is right near the end, and is in the vein of heart attack rather than dueling pistols or other violence/gore

It's July of 1925 and God, Hamilton wishes he were anywhere but here. Here being a backwards little town on the Bible Belt, where the mercury in the thermometer may be rising by the minute, but the people are as cold as ice. Well, that's not quite fair. They sure seem ready to give Madison a warm reception, but as soon as Hamilton says he's from the New York Post? Well, he's lucky to have found a room at all.

Hamilton wouldn't be here, of course, if it weren't for Madison. Madison and Burr, who are both due to be joining him in the this small backwater town for what's shaping up to be the trial of the century. And that? Hamilton wouldn't miss it for the world.

He's got no soft spot for Madison, can't believe there was ever a time in his life where they got along, collaborated on something. And Burr? He can't quite figure Burr out. One minute he's ardently defending the little guy or standing up alongside his wife in the campaign for women’s suffrage, the next he's defending a bank that got its charter passed disguised as a much needed water company. The man's a mess of contradictions, and Hamilton can't quite decide if he wants to shake his hand or sock him in the nose.

But until those two get here, Hamilton’s stuck kicking his heels along a dirt road to nowhere, “scoping the place out.” A girl runs past, in a dress that’s so stiff with starch it looks more likely to crack than to rip if she falls – which she almost does, careening off the curb to avoid plowing him over. She's followed by a boy, about the same age, waving a handful of earthworms, who catches up to her before they reach the end of the block.

“What’re you scared of? Huh Lindy? You was a worm once, you know,” he taunts her in a sing-song voice.

“I wasn't neither!”

“You were so! When the whole world was covered in with water, there was nothin ‘cept worms and blobs of jelly. And you and your whole family was worms.”

“Were not!”

“Were so! Mr. Laurens said. Or if you weren't worms, you were blobs of jelly, and that's even worse.”

“Harold Blair, that's sinful talk! I'll tell your ma, and she'll wash your mouth out with soap. ‘Specially with Mr. Madison coming today to preach against exactly that!”

“He ain't comin to the church, he's comin to the courthouse.”

“Then maybe you'll get _arrested_ , like Mr. Laurens.”

The boy’s eyes widened in fear, and suddenly they were off again, the boy yelling, “No Lindy! Lindy, don't you dare tell no one!”

“Lesson number one,” Hamilton whispered to himself as he watched them go, “is when you want to get away with something, don't announce it to the world.”

\---

Inside the courtroom, which for now is quiet, like the eye of a hurricane, or the moment of calm before a storm, Martha sits, wringing her hands. The bailiff enters, and right behind him is John.

“I'll let you two alone. Think I can trust you not to wander off.” The bailiff leaves and they’re alone together, for the first time since John’s arrest.

“Hello.” There’s never been a time when she hasn't known what to say to him before.

“Martha, I told you not to come here.”

“I had to! No one saw me, and the bailiff won't tell. I brought you some of your things.” She stretches out her arm, presenting a suitcase. He doesn't move. “So you can look smart for the trial. It can't help your case if the jury think you look like dirty, dangerous rebel.”

“Is that the impression you think I give off?”

“Oh, John, can't you just tell them it was all a joke?” Martha sets down the suitcase and walks towards him, a pleading look in her eyes. “Say you didn't mean to break the law, and promise it won't happen again, and then this can all be over!”

He turns away. “I guess everyone's pretty excited about Madison coming?”

“Excited? He's coming in on a special train and Pa’s going to the depot to meet him, everybody is!” John lets out a huff, but Martha presses on, “Its still not too late, why can't you just admit that you're in the wrong? If one of the biggest men in the country, a former president even! If James Madison is coming here to tell the whole world how wrong you are.”

“You really think I did wrong?” Is he asking her to confirm his guilt, or judging her for saying so?

“Why'd you do it, John?”

“You know why.” He's angry with her, then. “ I had the book in my hand, I opened it up, and I read to my sophomore science class from Darwin's _Origin of Species_. The book’s been around for 65 years, Martha, can't we at least discuss it like the rest of the scientific world? All it says is that man wasn't just stuck here like a wind-up toy in the shop window. Life is still a miracle, it just didn't happen in seven days. And how do we know what God means by a day anyway? Did you know at the top of the world, the twilight is six months long?”

“But we aren't at the top world, John, we’re in Mepkin, South Carolina, and when the sun goes down its dark!” She's pleading now, “Why can't you be on the right side of things?”

“You mean Father’s side.” John watches as she turns and stomps toward the door, then calls out, “Martha!”

Martha stops, turns around ever so slowly, and then flings herself across the room to hug her brother tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Especially in the first couple chapters, I adapted a lot of dialogue straight from the script, so if it's good, it's probably Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee, and if it isn't, it's probably my changes.


	2. Warmest of Welcomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lawyers arrive.

The funny thing about Madison’s special train to Mepkin is that Burr is on it too. It’s not so much a private train as a private compartment, and Burr just happened to arrive at the station in time to catch it. He’s at the back with the rest of the rabble, while Madison’s in a shiny new carriage right behind the engine. That’s all right though, its quieter back here, and he can crack a window open without getting as much of a face-full of smoke.

The conductor calls out Mepkin, and Burr’s the only one who stands. As the train rolls to a stop at the tiny little depot, he hears the sound of a small brass band. It’s the kind of place that looks like it was deserted three days ago and will be deserted three days after they’re gone, but for now, the town is decked out in all its Sunday best. It’s like the Fourth of July has come a second time this year, the buildings draped in red, white, and blue bunting and a scraggly band of high school boys who a teacher is valiantly trying make to sound like music.

Burr’s far enough down the platform that he can slip into the crowd unnoticed, and watch the show as Madison disembarks. He knows no one in this town is going to greet him with any fanfare, and the contrast might have stung if he hadn’t been so sure of expecting it. If he weren’t so used to it. When the reporters get here, they’ll hound him like always, but that’s different. So for now, while he can, he’ll watch and wait.

A boy weaves eagerly through the crowd, pulling a far more hesitant girl behind him.

“Come on ‘Lindy, it’s just like the county fair!” he cries, and looking around, Burr’s inclined to agree with him. Hawkers are shouting out their wares: fans and lemonade and hot dogs and Bibles.

He hears a man reply, “Now that poses a pretty problem: which is hungrier – my stomach or my soul?” It’s the first hint he’s heard, amidst the signs proclaiming, “Down With Darwin” and “My Ancestors Ain’t Apes,” that maybe, just maybe, he’s got an ally somewhere in this town. Burr guesses it’s the man currently being berated by the Bible seller.

“Are you an evolutionist, an infidel, a sinner?”

His back is to Burr as he replies, “The worst kind – I write for a newspaper. Name’s Alexander Hamilton of the _New York Post_. And yours?”

He’s press, then, not really an ally, even if his paper’s the one that hired Burr to be here. He should have known they’d send Hamilton, who stops being an ally to anyone the minute they do anything he disagrees with. Still, its rather fun to watch him at work, when someone else is the target.

The man says his name’s Elijah, and Burr can hear Hamilton’s face lighting up, “Elijah! Why, I had no idea you were still around. I’ve read some of your stuff.”

Hamilton is pointing to a Bible as he says the last bit, but Elijah is clueless, “I neither read nor write.” He sounds proud of this lack of accomplishment, and in a way it makes the joke all the funnier, but Hamilton turns away, already grown bored with an audience that doesn’t understand him.

The girl he saw being dragged through the crowd before is standing there holding out a nickle, trying to decide what she’ll buy, when an organ grinder’s monkey sneaks over and grabs it out of her hands.

And now she’s whining, “He took my nickle! The monkey took my nickle!”

Hamilton turns around, laughing, “Well, you couldn’t ask for better proof than that. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the father of the human race!” There are awkward murmurs, and Burr has to suppress a chuckle if he doesn’t want to be caught out, but Hamilton continues, shaking the monkey’s hand. “Welcome to Mepkin, sir. Have you come to testify for the prosecution or the defense?” The monkey shrugs, examining his coin. “No comment, how about you sir?” he’s turning to the organ grinder, “What’s your opinion on evolution?”

“Don’t have any opinions. They’re bad for business.” The organ grinder is a man after Burr’s own heart.

And then, the band plays a fanfare that means Madison must be finished whatever he’s been doing in the train compartment and is finally ready for his grand entrance.

\---

James Madison steps off the train to the sound of an off-key fanfare, his wife Dolly at his side, half a step behind. That’s where she always stands, the newspaper-perfect picture of a dutiful wife. What the cameras can’t seem to catch, what Hamilton knows only from years in the press corps, is how much of _his_ presence really emanates from _her_. Madison knows how to talk, but Dolly, she knows how to charm.

“Friends,” he begins, “Mrs. Madison and I are delighted to be here with you in Mepkin. I only wish that you had given us rather less warm a welcome.” He gestures not at the bunting, but up at the sky, and a lady rushes to hand him a fan. The crowd laughs, and even Hamilton feels himself starting to fall under the spell of the orator. “My friends, I have not come here merely to see that justice is done to this arrogant, law-breaking heretic of a school teacher, but because what happened in his classroom has unleashed an attack, from the cities of the north, up this great state and it’s right to defend its legal statutes. I am here to defend our right to the Truth of the Scriptures!”

Through the applause, a photographer – not Hamilton’s, someone belonging to one of the local papers – calls out for a picture. Madison agrees, and the town’s best and brightest – how ever dim their stars may be – are herded up onto the platform to join him. Mrs. Madison ducks out of the picture, but not before nodding her head in the direction of one man in particular. Madison approaches him, hand outstretched.

“You are the mayor, are you not?”

The photographer’s flashbulb goes off, capturing the handshake, and Madison’s face turned right towards the camera in a pleasant smile.

,“I am, sir.” The mayor seems surprised by the sudden flashbulb, but recovers, and begins leading Madison through to the Main Street. “And may I say how happy we all are to welcome you here in the defense of our town. And to extend that welcome, our Ladies’ Aid Society has prepared you a small buffet.”

The buffet, in Hamilton’s view is anything but small, several picnic tables laid out, covered in all manner of foods. Madison seems unfazed by the display, but Dolly takes his elbow and quietly cautions him to mind the doctor and not eat too much in the heat.

She needn't worry though, it's soon clear that for Madison, it's less of a picnic lunch, and more of a strategy session. He uses the casual atmosphere to probe the public about the case.

“Does anyone here know the defendant? Laurens is his name?”

Some brave soul calls out, “Everyone knows John Laurens, sir. It’s hard not to, in a town like this.”

“Can anyone tell me, is this fellow a criminal by nature?”

A nervous looking girl responds, “John isn’t a criminal! He’s good, really, he’s just…” She trails off, as if she’s only just realized she were speaking and regrets every second of it.

She tries to leave, but Madison stops her, “Wait, child. Is Mr. Laurens your friend?”

“I won’t tell you anything about him.” There’s an ever so quiet streak of defiance in this girl, that Hamilton can’t help but like.

“Martha!” yells the mayor, and suddenly the hint of defiance melts away. “My daughter will be pleased to answer any question you have for her.”

“This lovely young woman is your daughter?” asks Madison.

“Yes, sir.” The mayor pauses, and there’s a weight that Hamilton can’t quite decipher, but the whole town is watching with baited breath.

“And the scoundrel in the courthouse, most unfortunately, is my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this juncture, I'd like to apologize to James Madison, who of everyone is probably going to end up the most out of historical character, and also to the state of South Carolina, who only ever proposed but did not enact a bill prohibiting the teaching of evolution.


	3. The Book of Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madison chats with Martha and Hamilton makes a scene.

Well, that's a surprise. It probably shouldn't be, I mean it's probably the sort of fact Madison should know – that the teacher he's prosecuting is the (estranged?) son of the mayor of the town who’s prosecuting him. It's the sort of thing Dolly usually mentions. Then again, she talked him through the names of the local “dignitaries” on the train, and probably before that too, and he wasn't paying enough attention to remember any of them, so she probably thought she had told him. You know, when she mentioned the last name, which really should have clued him in that there was some relationship there. At least he managed to narrowly avoid putting his foot in it at the picnic rather than the courtroom. And now that he knows, he can use it. He's just got to win over the nervous sister, get her talking and she's bound to spill something useful.

He compliments the daughter to the mayor, gives the girl a smile, turns on the charm.

“Now Martha, I know that the man in the courthouse,” Madison chooses his words carefully, to ease her into it gently, “I know this man is your brother, and I know you feel a certain loyalty there, it's only right that you wouldn't want to speak badly of him in front of a crowd. Completely understandable and I apologize for asking it of you.” Now he begins to lead her away, to a semi-private space on someone’s front steps, where they won't be overheard. Or at least where she’ll feel like they won't be overheard, which is the important part.

“Now Martha,” he coaxes, “you know I'm not here to do your brother any harm, I have no personal vendetta against him. But Martha, you must see how important, how integral it is that we protect the impressionable young minds in your brother, in any teacher’s, care. That we keep their souls safe just as their parents trusted us to when they passed that law. You understand that, right?”

She nods, hesitantly. He's hitting the right buttons, “And I worry that he has disturbed you too, by trying to impose on you ideas which you know are wrong. So please, Martha, think of me as a friend, and tell me what's on your mind. Tell me what _you_ think of your brother.”

“He’s, he’s not a dangerous heathen radical like Pa says, he isn't.” She's so earnest in her defense, so determined not to say anything against him. “He just, he reads all these books, and he has ideas, and I don't even know if he really thinks them, he just has to wonder about them, you know?” Madison nods, and she continues, a little less hesitant, “And he thinks everyone else should be able to wonder about them too, so he tells them.”

Bingo. “What sorts of things does he talk about?”

\---

Madison has pulled the sister off to the side, leaving the townspeople to their own devices. And as has been true since the moment Hamilton arrived, all they can talk about is the trial. Now that they've got one lawyer here, they’re on to speculating about the next one. The paper hasn't announced it yet, the nation has been far more concerned with the excitement of Madison as the prosecutor. Which means Hamilton is the only one here who knows. And he's always had a flair for theatricality.

He lets them continue until he hears the mayor – and of course it's the mayor – say what he's been waiting for, “Well, whoever he is, he won't have much chance against Mr. Madison, will he?”

“I disagree.”

“And you are?” The mayor is touchy.

“Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

He gives them a minute to mutter amongst themselves, trying to place it. And then, he can’t help but show off:

“This newspaperman trips over himself in haste,  
And carries the news to his story. You see,  
It is my solemn duty to inform you,  
That you, are not the protagonist  
In this article the _Post_ has arranged  
To reveal to the world that a man has the right  
To contradict the Revealed Word in favor of the truth.  
And as they cast this little drama, they’ve sent to Mepkin  
Two of the first string from New York:  
Yours truly – the wit of the western world  
And…”

Hamilton broke off, seeing a familiar face in the crowd, “Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr, sir!”

\---

Hamilton spots him, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

Burr’s been trying to listen in on whatever information Madison is extracting from the girl on the steps, but Hamilton, true to fashion, can’t help but look for a reaction from the man who is clearly his intended audience. And in the process, his eye lands on Burr and well, the man never could keep his mouth shut.

“Burr!” Ah, so Hamilton has caught Madison’s attention after all, even if he’s lost the rest of his audience. Madison sits there, stunned, for a few moments, and Burr lets the townspeople’s chatter wash over him:

“Burr, he’s the nasty lawyer who…”

“…heard he got one murderer off on a technicality of jurisdiction…”

“…shouldn’t let men like that into the town…”

“...at the center of a whole conspiracy out west…”

“…said he saw him in a courtroom once, and he looked like the very devil himself.”

Burr hates the way people take things and they twist them until they no longer looks like a reflection of him at all. And it’s all the damn papers’ faults, putting a spin on everything that gets convoluted down the line until it gets back to Burr as one child telling another ghost stories about him.

“Mr. Burr,” Madison has evidently recovered and found him then. To the experienced observer his smile is plainly plastered on, but it's convincing enough for the others, “Let me be the first to welcome you to Mepkin and invite you to join in our little picnic.”

Interesting. What is his game? Now everyone knows he’s here, Burr’s not sure he wants to stick around to find out.

He bows out gracefully, “You’re very kind, but I’m afraid I’d better settle in to my hotel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dolly/Dolley Madison (historically it's spelled both ways in different documents, I'm going with Dolly) was an awesome woman, who was a major social force in her husband's administration. If Madison was Jefferson's man behind the curtain, she was Madison's.
> 
> re: Hamilton's free verse poem, the character of Hornbeck is written in verse pretty much any time he has a monologue and while I don't think it would flow if I did that consistently (nor do I have the poetic skill) I think it's fitting when he's being particularly theatrical.


	4. Uneasy Rest in Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton meets a Laurens.

By the time Madison brings Martha back to the picnic, she has a sinking feeling she’s told him something she shouldn’t have, only she can’t think what. She doesn't even remember what she said, only that he got her talking, and she didn’t know how to stop.

He looks shaken too though, she guesses over the revelation of the opposing council, and he’s in a hushed conversation with his wife and Martha’s father. And her, she supposes – he brought back over to Father when he’d done with her, but no one ever notices when she’s standing there.

Father is worried about Mr. Madison welcoming Mr. Burr so warmly, thinks it's strange and is worried about Burr’s successful track record, but Madison assures him, “No, no, it's good for our cause that they’ve sent someone strong, someone well known. It means more people will be watching, everyone will be watching us. And what is a victory if there is no challenge? No one would remember David if Goliath had been a house-cat. But we have treat him like one, while bearing in mind that he’s a lion, because the first thing Burr does is try to flip the case around, make us look like the enemy. He’s always holding the candle up to the witness or the prosecution, revealing flaws that have no bearing on the case, trying to put someone other than his client on trial. But we know that, so we work against it. And we work with all that this little lady has told me.”

Father beams at her when Mr. Madison says that, but Martha just feels cold dread seep into her stomach. She excuses herself, and she feels like she’s going to be sick, so she runs to get to the courtroom and see John because her big brother always knows how to make things right.

And she might be crying, and she’s not looking where she’s going, and she runs straight into someone.

He doesn’t seem upset about it. He seems concerned, leads her over to a bench by the courthouse.

“Shh, shh. What’s wrong?”

And the tears all come pouring out, “I…I have to go find the bailiff to get John…I have to…warn him…he’ll know what to do.”

His reply is easy, calming, “Well, I don’t know where the bailiff is, but I do give remarkably good advice. At low rates, special for unmarried young ladies, and further discounts for politicians and their children.”

Martha may not get out much but she knows a line when she hears one, even if it's maybe just meant to cheer her up. She’s on her guard, “And you are?”

“Just someone scouting out an observation post before the bloodshed begins. Wouldn’t want you getting dragged into harms way either.” He’s smooth and slippery, and Martha gets up to leave.

“Wait.” That sounds almost genuine. He continues, “I’ve got a newspaper, you ought to read, so hot it hasn’t even hit the press. One story by A. Hamilton.” He hands her a piece of paper. “A ballad of the battling boy with the banned biology book and his fight for the freedom of free thought in the free world.”

She reads it and its…good. He makes John seem so noble, not just like her foolhardy big brother who runs his mouth all the times he isn’t supposed to. It’s the sort of thing that might change people's minds, if they would read it, but he says it won’t be published here, only up in New York, where she can’t see that it will do any good.

“We’re playing the long game here,” he reassures her, “it will do what it needs to. Promise. Get the right people asking the bigger questions.”

Martha’s confused again, “What bigger questions? Maybe if the jury read what you wrote they’d let him off easier, but John broke the law, he knew he wasn’t supposed to teach that and he did. And if a great man like Mr. Madison has come all they way here to prove it’s wrong then it must be.”

“Madison came because he’s getting a fat check and likes to feel important.”

That’s an insult to the man who built his career defending the rights of the common people, and Martha tells him so.

“Either Madison’s pulled one over on the common people, or they have on him, because I don’t think you all have the same definition in mind for what a common person is.” He stands up. “Well, I’d better be going, but…uh, just some food for thought.”

Something is flying towards her, and by the time she catches it, he’s gone. There’s a bright red apple in her hands. She looks back up at his retreating form, walking through the shadow cast by the church spire in the afternoon sun. Well, maybe she’d better not eat it.

 


	5. Thy Judge and Jury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jury gets selected and someone gets cold feet.

The next day, the two lawyers examine the jurors. It's as hot in the courtroom as anywhere in Dante’s Inferno, and Madison feels like he just might melt with the heat. He proposes a motion to remove their coats in the courtroom, but Burr’s being difficult, says he’s not sure the dignity of the court can be upheld if he's dressed down to his suspenders. Luckily, the judge says they’re welcome to dress or undress as they please.

Or, maybe not so luckily, though Madison is grateful to take off the alpaca coat that's been smothering him. Burr’s wearing an atrocious pair of orange suspenders. At first, it seems like the perfect opportunity to discredit the man, or rather to highlight how his fashion sense discredits himself.

But Burr’s already three steps ahead of him, “Oh, I bought these special, Mr. Madison. Picked ‘em out when I made a stopover up by our alma mater.” He nods to the crowd here, “Princeton, you know.”

And that simultaneously undercuts Madison’s “I’m just one of you” image and his ”I’m the smart one here.” Luckily, the judge has them swiftly moving along to the next juror.

And Burr has to be an annoyance with this one as well. He won’t even question the man before refusing to approve him. Just because he proudly declares he believes in the Holy Word of God. Well, the Holy Word of God and James Madison. Possibly slightly too biased a statement.

The next one’s even worse.

George Sillers works at the local feed store, and tell’s Madison he’s “as religious as the next man,” which in Mepkin is probably saying quite a lot.

Then, Madison asks him a simple hypothetical question, “If you had a son or daughter, Mr. Sillers what would you say if they came home one day and told you that a heretical teacher – ”

“Objection, your honor!”

“What for?” Madison shoots back. “Can’t I question the jurors even if you choose not to?”

“Your honor, he can’t go on asking leading questions and swaying the jury’s mind before the trial has even begun. And I object to his language. ‘Heretical’ has no place in a court of law when Mr. Madison should know very well that our fine country has a separation between church and state.”

“Objection sustained.” And Madison thought the judge was on his side!

“Mr. Siller, do you have any personal biases towards the defendant that might prejudice you against him?” Madison shoots a forced smile at Burr that screams, ‘Happy now? See how fair I can play.’

“Laurens? Don’t really know him at all, except to see him in the street. He’s come into the shop a few times, always paid his bill.”

“You see?” Madson directs his assessment at Burr, rather than the judge. “He seems to be an honest, unprejudiced sort of man.” Back to the judge, “I’ll take him.”

Burr’s response is cool and unmoving, “We’ll see.” He turns to the juror with a calculating gaze. “How religious a man would you say you are Mr. Sillers? Do you work at it very hard?”

“Not particularly.” The man seems to realize what he’s just admitted, in front of half the town, no less. “That is…you see…I mean, I’m always working down at the store and my wife, she takes care of most of the religion for both of us.”

“And while you wife is looking after the religion, Mr. Sillers, have you ever come across a man named Charles Darwin?”

“Not ‘til all this hullabaloo started up about him.”

“And from what you’ve heard in all this hullabaloo, do you think he’s the sort of man you and your wife would have round to dinner?”

Madison’s had enough of this ridiculous line of questioning, tricking an innocent tradesman into public admissions that are liable to have him tarred and feathered in this sort of town. “Objection your honor! My opponent is distracting us all with purely hypothetical lines of inquiry.”

Burr just shrugs, “I’m only doing your job, sir.”

Madison stands up, “The prosecution is perfectly capable…”

“Now that we’ve established he isn’t working terribly hard at religion, for the sake of fairness, I just want to make sure he isn't working terribly hard at evolution either.”

The juror pipes up, “Only thing I’m workin’ at is the feed store.”

Burr’s got a satisfied smirk at the corner of his mouth, “I’ll take him.”

Madison doesn’t like that kind of grin, not from Burr. “On second thought your honor, I’m not sure I will.”

“Objection! The prosecution had its chance to examine Mr. Sillers –”

“I’m only trying to ensure that there’s a fair –”

“As am I!”

“And unless the opinions of the jury reflect the laws and opinions of society – ”

“Reflect? What do you want, Mr. Madison, a line of carbon copies who can parrot back you views?”

Burr’s gone too far for Madison. “Parrot back my views? You’re the one who knows how to twist a jury, get them thinking whatever you’ve told them, trying to convince them that what they know is wrong. I’m just trying to ascertain that the gentlemen of the jury are secure enough in their beliefs to withstand your trickery.”

“And I’d say that comes pretty close to selecting for ingrained bias!”

For two men who are usually so reserved, he and Burr certainly know how to rile each other up. He can hear frustration in the judge’s voice already as he tries to call them to order. Giving productivity up for the lost cause it is, he dismisses court for the day “on account of the heat.”

To make matters worse, as soon as the session’s been officially ended, the damn reporter – who’s evidently been having difficulty biting his tongue all day – starts pestering the judge about having announced a prayer meeting later in the evening, about how for every pro-Bible sign out in front of the courthouse, he’d like to see a pro-Evolution one to match it. Says if God gets to come into the courtroom, then Darwin should too. Tries to get Burr to join him. It’s going to be a long trial.

\---

The jury’s been selected, the session’s ended early, and Burr just wants to head on back to his hotel room and sleep through as much of this heat as possible. But of course, Alexander Hamilton is busy pestering the judge, which is going to do nothing but solidify their place on the judge’s bad side. Especially if Burr backs Hamilton up like he wants. That man just doesn’t understand that you have to choose your battles.

The girl who comes running up to him, though, she understands it a little too well.

“Mr. Burr, Mr. Burr,” she’s tripping over her words, dragging his client with her, “You’re a smart, educated man. You’ve got to talk some sense into John about calling this whole case off.”

“You getting cold feet, John?” Because damnit all if Burr’s wasted his time coming down here over nothing. Especially after all this publicity. If their great big test case backs out, it'll give the whole issue a bad rap. He told the paper if they weren’t one hundred percent sure about this guy, they were better off waiting for another shot.

Laurens swallows, “I…I never thought it would be like this, like the whole circus coming to town. Not even the circus! A circus was like when they brought that murder passing through on the train, the one that killed his wife, and they looked at him like…like he was just some curiosity. And they act like I did worse!”

And Burr thinks, isn’t that the way the world works? “He only murdered a wife, you went and murdered an old wives’ tale. Threaten someone’s fairytale and they call upon the wrath of God, Madison, and his precious state legislature.”

The girl is indignant, “You shouldn’t brush it all off as a joke like that!”

“It’ll be dark days indeed when we’re beyond the reach of laughter.”

“I can’t laugh about this, Mr Burr,” says Laurens, “I’m too scared.”

“You’d be a damned fool if you weren't.” Burr sighs, “We’ve still got time to call it off if it's what you really want, but…”

The girl cuts him off, “He does, he really does!”

Laurens doesn’t look so sure, like this is more her idea than his, so he asks the obvious question, “And who are you?”

She doesn’t like that, “I’m his sister. And I know what’s best for John is if he just stands up and apologizes to everyone, so we could end all this fuss and everything could go back to how it was before.”

From across the room, Hamilton snorts and intercedes, “You really think that’s how this works? That you can buy back his respectability by making him a coward?”

“Hamilton!” Burr nods his head toward the door in a way that very clearly telegraphs his desire for Hamilton to butt the hell out of the conversation.

But Hamilton is insufferable, “He can’t solve the problem by running away from it! If he does, he’s no better than the damn bastards who wrote the law in the first place. Look, I know it's lonely, to find yourself standing up when everybody else is sitting down, to have them look at you like you don’t belong. But you ride this out, and then you get the hell out of this suffocating little town and away from these small-minded people.”

The sister does not like that, “Maybe he doesn't want to leave here. And you told me you were trying to help John, but every time you swear, you just make things worse!”

She and Hamilton are getting along like wildfire alright, “Sorry to have offended you, miss. But the way I see it is that language is an imperfect enough means of communication as it is. There are too few words that everyone understands, and I intend to use every damn one of them.”

“Alright, you two! Go off and squabble on your own if you like, but I'm more interested in what Mr. Laurens has to say.” Burr ignores the other two and looks his client right in the eyes, “Laurens, I'll change your plea and call the whole thing off,” he hears Hamilton scoff beside him. “I’ll call the whole thing off on one condition: if you honestly believe that you have committed a crime against the citizens of this state and the minds of their children. If you honestly believe that you’ve done wrong and the law should stand as it is, I'll pack my bags and hop on the next train to somewhere where it gets below 110 in the shade. Your choice.”

There’s one, maybe two blissful seconds of silence, before Hamilton and the sister are off at it again.

“Hey,” Burr shoots them both a death glare. “Don't prompt the witness.” Back to Laurens, “So what’s your verdict?”

A deep breath, then, “I’m not the type to quit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Term's started up again, so updates probably won't be terribly frequent for a bit.


	6. Of Press Conferences and Prayer Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madison preaches in every arena and Hamilton makes a new friend.

Now that he’s saved Burr’s noncommittal ass and prevented Laurens from chickening out, Hamilton is off to join what’s now a mob of press, following Madison around to collect his ‘pearls of wisdom.’ Of course, the pearls are only paste, so Hamilton’s not concerned to have missed the start of this press conference. He doesn’t even bother to take out his pen. Ordinarily he would – there’s always something rattling around in his head that’s worth writing down, even if he isn’t taking notes – but Hamilton’s always been one for standing out. And in a crowd like this? In front of Madison? The fastest way to get noticed is to visibly not take notice.

 

A lady reporter – who says she’s from Reuters News Agency, London, even though her accent says New York – interrupts the repetitive diatribe about state sovereignty and the protection of religion to ask what’s actually a rather interesting and intelligent question: “What’s your personal opinion of Aaron Burr, sir?”

 

“Mr. Burr? Well, I’m glad you asked me that, Miss…?”

 

There’s an obvious condescension in the way he says, “Miss,” and really, its rude of Madison to be asking her name at all, when he hasn’t asked for more than the name of the paper from any of the men. She’s clearly annoyed, but also clearly used to it and not about to kick up a fuss.

 

Well, not much of a fuss.

 

“ _Mrs._ Church, sir,” she says through clenched teeth, “Now as for my question?”

 

“Right, right, of course,” Madison sounds like he might be stalling, hoping she wouldn’t notice a re-direct, but Church is clearly on top of her game and not going to let him squirm away. “I think it’s important for the world to know that I don’t harbor any sort of personal grudge against Mr. Burr. He once gave active support to the campaigns of former President Jefferson and I, and we welcomed that endorsement, from one of the nation’s brightest young lawyers. I deeply respect Mr. Burr’s skill in the courtroom. But I cannot understand why that man, who I once called a friend, has moved so far away from our once-shared American values. And were he my closest friend, were he even my brother,” Madison raises his voice on the last phrase, and directs it pointedly at the Laurens girl who is lingering nervously just outside the courthouse, “I would not stand for the abominations that he defends.”

 

“But what would you identify as the catalyst of your ideological split with Mr. Burr?” Hamilton likes this Church woman, she’s not giving up.

 

“No further questions, please. I must head over to the prayer meeting now, but I do encourage you _all_ to join me.” Madison directs the last bit particularly to Mrs. Church and – bingo – Hamilton himself. “It may bring some of you some much needed enlightenment.”

 

Hamilton makes his way over toward Mrs. Church, only to find that Madison is heading to join them.

 

“Mrs. Church,” the politician gives her a perfunctory greeting first, the barest minimum of politeness, “so rare to meet a lady reporter. Perhaps you’d be more interested in an interview with my wife?” Is he foolish enough to assume that London sent over someone from the Ladies column to use the trial as an opportunity to find out about his curtains, or is he trying to pawn off a skilled adversary onto the capable Dolly? There isn’t mush opportunity to tell, since he doesn’t even give her a chance to respond before turning to Hamilton:

 

“Mr. Hamilton,” he nods, and Alexander nods back. “My clipping service has sent me some of your…articles.”

 

“Well, its always flattering to know I’m being clipped.”

 

“Pity really, you’ve got undeniable skill with a pen and yet, its such a disappointment to read such –” Madison isn’t really fiddling around for a word, but he certainly seems to want Hamilton to think it, “… _biased_ reporting.”

 

“Ah, but I’m no reporter, Mr. Madison,” he’s so much fun for Hamilton to tease, “I’m every actor’s nightmare – a critic. But since politics is my theatre, we’ll call them editorials and leave it at that.”

 

Madison recognizes when to retreat, and quickly takes his leave, leaving Hamilton to converse with Mrs. Church as planned.

 

She holds out her hand, “Angelica Church. I didn’t see you at the start of the press conference, Mr. Hamilton. Will you be joining our ranks at the prayer meeting now that you’re here?”

 

“Well, since I’m here on a press pass, it seems like a waste to miss any part of the show.”

 

He offers his arm, and she takes it, and they follow the crowd.

 

It turns out to be very good he’s found a like-minded companion for the prayer meeting. Hamilton and Church find spots near the back, where they’re less likely to be chastised by their neighbors, and spend the whole thing whispering a running commentary to each other. For the most part, it isn’t anything terribly interesting – just a run through of the Creation story – until the reverend starts calling down hellfire on John Laurens and the mayor stands up from his seat in the front row to join him.

 

And then? Well, that’s when things get interesting. Because the timid little Laurens girl, who seems, by all evidence, to be absolutely terrified of her father and not terribly convinced that her brother isn’t guilty?

 

She stands up and interrupts the whole meeting, pulling down her father’s arms and crying, “No! No, father. Don’t pray to destroy John!”

 

But really, it’s the mayor’s response that’s news worthy: “Lord,” he yells, top of his lungs, “Lord, we call down the same curse of those who ask grace for this sinner – though they be blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh.”

 

This man has absolutely no sense of familial loyalty at all, does he? His daughter practically crumples at his feet, and he ignores her crying, brushes her off.

 

Hamilton is about ready to stand up and comfort her himself – grabbing Mrs. Church’s hand to pull her with him, in case the girl doesn’t take kindly to him after what he said in the courtroom – when Madison takes control of the situation.

 

He’s…surprisingly compassionate, “Mr. Laurens! I am sure that it is only from well-intentioned, deep faith that you utter this prayer, but let us not be too over-zealous. Remember the words of Wise Solomon, “He that troubleth his own house…shall inherit the wind,” and do not burn bridges that may yet be preserved. Just as we are told that God forgives his children, so must we follow his example and offer forgiveness ourselves.”

 

Madison works to dismiss the prayer meeting, to minimize the dramatic outburst, but the mayor is resolute, “If that is so, then let the son who has troubled my house be bowled over by all the great forces of the wind.” Hamilton sighs; there’s no hope for that one.


	7. Round One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first witness is examined.

Mr. Madison calls Howard as one of his first witnesses, and it’s not like he didn’t know this was coming, but now the moment’s here he’s…scared? Well, nervous at least. It’s Mr. Laurens they’ve got on trial, and this all seemed so exciting to be a part of, but he doesn’t really want to get his favorite teacher in trouble. Then who’ll he be stuck with for science class next year?

But Mr. Laurens explained it all to him, back before he even got arrested, when this was all just a bunch of letters sent between here and New York. He said there would be a trial, and Howard would be doing him a favor if he’d volunteer to testify. That he wouldn’t try to hide what he’d done, but he needed someone he could trust to tell it plain and simple to the judge – to tell exactly what Mr. Laurens taught, without twisting it around into dirty lies.

Mr. Laurens looked Howard right in the eyes and said he trusted him. No one ever really trusted Howard with anything before, barely even with a quarter to spend on his own at the fair. It made him feel proud.

He looks over at Mr. Laurens now, because he feels so guilty answering, “Yes, sir,” to Mr. Madison, but when Mr. Laurens notices him looking, he shoots Howard a reassuring smile and tiny nod of his head.

Howard takes a deep breath as Mr. Madison finishes his first question, “Go on, Howard. Tell the jury what exactly what Mr. Laurens told you in the classroom. Start at the beginning.”

“Well….well,” it feels like Howard’s taking an oral exam, trying to remember everything, even though he hasn’t seen the textbook in months. If he has to prove Mr. Laurens guilty of teaching evolution, then the least he can do is prove he taught it right. “It started way, way back, when the earth was too hot for anything to live. But then it got cooled down some and little cell-things could live.”

“Cell-things?” Mr. Madison asks.

“Little bugs, like, in the water, but so small they’re only one tiny little cell.” Mr. Laurens is going to be so disappointed in him if he has to try to explain cells to everyone. That bit was before they got to the exciting stuff about monkey-people and everything, so he really wasn’t paying his best attention. “So then the little bug-cell-things turned into bigger bug-things. And then they could grow legs and crawl up onto the land.”

“And did Mr. Laurens say how long that took?” With every question Mr. Madison asks, this is feeling more and more like a biology test.

“Umm, I think it was…couple million years. Maybe? Maybe longer. And then some of the bugs turned into fishes, and some of them got to be reptiles. And then you get to mammals – like dogs and cats. Or people.”

“Or people! So you’re saying man’s a mammal, like an animal?”

Why does it feel like Mr. Madison is interrogating him? Does he know Howard is really on Mr. Laurens’ side?

“Yes, sir.”

“And how did Mr. Laurens say man walked out from this slimy mess of bugs and serpents?”

“Man, well, he sort of got…evoluted,” – that can’t be the right word for it, but Howard’s nervous and its hard to remember – “from old world monkeys.”

“ ‘Old World Monkeys!’ ” Madison laughs, “Can’t we even be descended from good American monkeys?” The crowd laughs too. “Now with all this talk of Evolution” – Mr. Madison is pronouncing it wrong, with too much emphasis on the E; No wait, he’s doing it on purpose so it sounds almost like ‘evil’, evil-ution. Madison continues, “Did Mr. Laurens ever once tell you about God, and his great miracle of creation?”

“No.” Madison wants him to stop there, but Howard’s said all he needs to about what Mr. Laurens taught now, so he can try to give Mr. Madison a piece of his mind. “But he didn’t talk against God, neither. I suppose he just figured we had all heard enough about him at Sunday school.”

A couple of people chuckle. Good.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Madison begins like he’s about to make a great big speech, just like the ones last night. But Mr. Laurens’ lawyer cuts him off:

“Objection! Your honor, I’d like to remind the prosecutor that he’s meant to be submitting evidence to a jury, not leading a rally or a prayer meeting. And we don’t yet let any ladies on the jury.”

Howard thinks he’s sees Madison grimace at that, but he seems to be all smiles by the time be turns back toward the jury box and the spectators, “My sincere apologies to your honor and the defense. Just a turn of phrase. I have no need to make a speech, since I am sure that to any right feeling person here, the tragic confusion of this poor boy’s statement speaks for itself.” Wait, is Madison meant to be talking about him? Howard thought he’d done a pretty good job. Sure, he might have got a little confused about remembering all his biology, but what the heck about Howard is supposed to scream tragic?

“He has been taught that he wriggled up like an animal from the filth and muck below!” Madison seems outraged, but honestly, that’s the bit that sounded pretty cool to Howard. I mean with heat like this, who wouldn’t want to wriggle back under the cool earth like a worm?

“I say that these Bible-hating Evil-utionists are brewers of poison, which will shear a generation of it’s faith, to be replaced by hollow and Godless science. Poison which this good state has seen fit to ban from within its borders, but which Mr. John Laurens has been caught administering to it’s vulnerable youth. If he is not punished to the full extent of the law, then he will be as the pied piper to the children of South Carolina, leading them down the primrose path to Hell!”

“Well,” says Mr. Burr with a chuckle – and Howard can’t help but agree – “I sure am glad Mr. Madison refrained from making a speech.”

\---

Howard holds his own through the testimony, and John is proud of him for it. He always knew the kid had curiosity – even if his memorization leaves something to be desired – and it's nice to see he’s got the courage to back it up. Gives John hope for the kid’s future, because if there’s anything he’s learned, it’s that in this town, curiosity is a sin.

Howard is clear and succinct, just like John told him all those months ago when this was purely hypothetical. Madison makes a big speech in the end – one he probably prepared weeks ago – but Howard doesn’t really give him anything to feed the fire.

Then Burr takes over and things get…different.

He starts out like he’s trying to poke holes in the theory; it’s like a messed-up sort of catechism: “Where’d you learn that?” “Mr. Laurens.” “Where’d he learn it?” “Mr. Darwin.” “Where’d he learn it?”

“Thought it up, I guess?” Howard is clearly as baffled as John.

“Figure there’s anything wrong with that?” John really hopes Burr is going somewhere with this.

“I…”

“Objection, your honor!” Madison cuts the kid off before he has time to formulate a response. “This isn't witness testimony, it's asking a thirteen year old boy’s opinion on a question of morality far beyond his understanding.”

It's like Burr was waiting for that, because he's off like a rocket, with force and determination, “I'm trying to establish, your honor, that Howard, or Mr. Laurens, or Charles Darwin, or anyone else in this courtroom, or in the entirety of this state has the Right to Think!” And God, Laurens is grateful this is the man defending him.

The judge just sounds bored, “The right to think is not on trial here, Mr. Burr. This case seeks only to establish whether Mr. Laurens, in full knowledge of his actions’ illegality…” He drones on for a bit more. John knows he should be listening, should be paying attention to every word of this case that he has risked everything for, but that fact is, he's sick of hearing the spiel.

The judge must finish, because next thing John clocks is Burr, “With all due respect, your honor” – and doesn't he say that with a subtle sneer of condescension? – “I protest that the right to think is very much on trial. In fact it is fearfully endangered by the proceedings of this court!”

No question whose side the judge is on here. “You’ve had your speech, Mr. Burr. Now please re-phrase the question.”

“Let's put it this way then, Howard – Do you think, with all this fuss, that learning about Evolution hurt you any?”

“No, sir.” Good kid, that Howard.

“Are you sure it didn't do you any harm? You still feel reasonably fit? Didn't hurt your baseball game?” Howard is nodding and shaking his head on cue, “You haven't felt like murdering anyone since breakfast?”

Howard gets cheeky, which John would be proud of him for if he weren't so worried that they’re pushed it too far, “No more than usual, sir.”

And right on cue: “Objection, your honor!” Of course it's sustained, and Madison continues, “Why don't you ask him if his faith in the Holy Scriptures has been shaken?”

“Why didn't you?” Burr is done with Madison, “Your turn for questioning is over, and I'm far more interested in – Howard, do you believe everything Mr. Laurens told you?”

Laurens looks at Howard. He doesn't know what answer Burr is looking for, but despite how casually Burr turned to ask the question, it feels like everything is riding on the words about to come out of his pupil’s mouth.

“I'm not sure. I’d have to think it over.”

“Good man,” Burr tells him, and John lets out a sigh of relief. “You know, in my opinion, the man who thinks he's got it all figured out is probably a fool. But it takes a very brave fellow to say, ‘I don't know the answer.’

“And that is all my client is asking for – the right to say I don't know the answer, so let's think it over. The right to say maybe this official answer isn't doing it for me, so I'm going to explore another possibility. The right to go looking for the truth, as it is written not in somebody’s religion but in his very soul.”

\---  
Martha has been trying to watch the trial all morning, but really, the only thing she can focus on is the fear eating away at her gut. When the judge calls a recess for lunch, she tells her father she needs a moment and watches him until he leaves the room and is well beyond the doorway and out of sight.

Then, she runs over to the defense’s table, where her brother and Mr. Burr are seated, “Oh, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do!”

Ever the caring older brother, John goes to comfort her immediately, and that only makes it worse. “I don't want to do it John, you have to believe I don't, but Pa and Mr. Madison say…they say.”

“Hey, what is it?” John shouldn't be this nice to her, not when she’s about to –

“They want me to testify against you.”

John goes suddenly still. “You can’t.” He's brushing her off now, pulling back to hold her at arm’s length and look her straight in the eyes. He looks desperate, “Martha, the things I’ve told you – secrets, whispered in the dark hiding from pa, staring up at the night sky, trying to read the answers in the stars and wondering what it’s all for – I was just asking questions. But you saw what Madison tried to do with Howard. If you tell them my questions up on the witness stand, he’s gonna make them seem like answers and then use them as kindling to burn me at the stake.

“Please, Martha,” he's begging her, and she wants to say something to reassure him, but the words won't come out, and she wouldn't know what to say if they did.

“Mr. Burr, tell her she can't. She's got to refuse. They can't possibly be allowed to make my sister…”

Martha looks hopefully at the lawyer, but from his face, she sees it’s a lost cause, “I'm afraid they can. Husbands and wives, that's protected, but anything else – if he wants to subpoena you, he can.”

Burr, bless him, tries to reassure her that Madison’s not really anything to be scared of, all bark and no bite, but he's barking up the wrong tree.

“It's not Mr. Madison that worries me, sir. It's my father.” Martha remembers how, when she was a little girl and John was away at school, she used to wake up in the middle of the night, absolutely certain in the pitch black darkness that her whole world had been turned upside down, and if she didn't hold onto the bed-stand real tight, she would fall and go hurtling out into the terrifying wilderness of stars. The same horribly unknowable universe that got John so excited. And she wanted to run to her father for comfort, more than anything, but somehow, she was always more frightened of him than the stars.

She still is really, and her big brother John’s the only one who makes her feel safe.


	8. Trial by Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martha is thrown to the wolves. Sorry, *lawyers.

After lunch, it’s Martha’s turn to be questioned. She’s shaking like a leaf as father pushes her forward out of the gallery and she walks over to the witness stand. When she gets there, she stills, but she’s gripping the wood so hard that her knuckles are white. John can already tell this isn’t going to go well, Madison’s going to walk all over his sister.

After they’ve established the basic familial relationship, he asks, “And is the defendant a member of the same spiritual community to which the rest of your family belongs?”

Martha looks at him, confused, “He was baptized like the rest of us.”

“Yes,” Madison continues, “but does he attend church with you?”

John knew this was coming but, God, it's ridiculous all the same. Madison’s approach so far has been to treat this like the Salem Witch Trials – doesn’t freedom of religion mean you can’t convict someone over not attending church?

He watches Martha’s eyes flick up to him briefly, and then guiltily down to the floor, “Not anymore.” Madison stares at her until she elaborates, slightly, “Not since two summers ago.”

She’s terrified, and she’s going to end up divulging far more than either of them would like her to, but at least his sister’s trying her best to be tight lipped; She’s making Madison pull teeth to get information out of her, “And what happened two summers ago?”

“It was the little Stebbins boy”

“Go on.”

Once Martha starts talking, its John who’s shaking, his knee bouncing up and down rapidly, until Burr puts a hand out to stop it. It’s probably a good move. John knows it won’t look good for the case if he’s visibly agitated, but he can’t help it. He tries as best he can to tune her out.

“Tommy Stebbins was, eleven, I think. He used to come by John’s classroom after school, to show him things he’d found or drawn. Natural specimens. John would let him use the microscope, while he graded papers. John said Tommy was real smart – a sharp eye and a quick mind. He wanted to be a scientist when he grew up, looked up to John, I think.” She swallows. “And that summer, he went swimming in the river. Everyone did. But that day, Tommy went swimming on his own, and he got a cramp and…

“When he died, John was real torn up about it. But Pa and the rest of the church board, they said they wouldn’t have the funeral, because Tommy’s folks had never had him baptized, so he couldn’t have died in a state of grace.”

Burr’s hand is still on his knee, but John is fuming, and Martha's sugarcoating it. Before he has time to think things through, he's up on his feet, shouting, “Tell him what Dad really said, to the poor boy’s parents, no less! That their kid’s soul was rightfully damned and writhing in eternal hellfire, and that it was all their fault!”

Someone yells out “Laurens, you sinner!” and John’s not sure whether they’re yelling at him or his father. It should be at his father, but that would be asking too much, wouldn’t it?

“Religion’s supposed to be there to comfort people! I wasn’t going to stay in a ‘community’,” and John directs that word toward Madison with so much bite, “that uses it to guilt and frighten vulnerable people half to death!”

The judge is calling for order and John, whose fury has exhausted itself into disappointment, lets Burr pull him back into his seat.

The lawyer, whose hand John didn't notice tugging him down by his shirtsleeve until he stopped, halfway through the rant, stands up himself and turns to the judge, “Your honor, I request that my client’s remarks on the subject be struck from the record – ”

Now that it's over, John knows he’s messed up. The jury is never going to forgive him for an outburst like that. But he's been bottling that up for years, and honestly, it felt good to have it out there in the open now. Except that Madison's never going to let him live it down.

“But can we strike this dangerous young man’s opinions from the minds of his community? Now Martha,” Madison continues, “will you share with the jury some more of your brother’s opinions on the subject of their good Christian religion?”

Oh God, what's she going to tell them? Martha’s looking around nervously, anywhere except at John, and she's silently opening and closing her mouth. It's like waiting for the torture the continue, but Burr jumps back in, forceful and deliberate. “…Struck from the record, on account that differences of religion are not yet an offense prosecutable by this court and therefore have no bearing on the case.”

It’s a relief to have a hope of reprieve, even if it's ever so slight. But if religion’s his objection – and it should be – then why did Burr wait so long to raise it? Why did he sit there so long watching and waiting, while Madison raked John and his sister over the coals?

Not that it matters once the judge overrules him and tells Madison to continue his questioning.

After a few false starts, Martha stammers out, “I…I…don’t know….”

Madison goes and stands right in front of her, blocking her from John’s view, and says, in a voice that’s somehow both comforting and slightly intimidating at the same time, “Just tell me, in your own words, the conversation you had with him, the one you told me about the other day, remember?” It’s a tone that invites confidence _and_ brooks no refusal at the same time, the kind of magical, confession-generating power a teacher like John would be jealous of if he weren't so busy being destroyed by it. “The remark he made about the Heavenly Father?”

“John said – ” She stops and shakes her head, “I cant!”

As nervous as John is about what she's going to say, it's also painful to watch how much his sister is struggling. Trying so hard not to betray him, but caught under the pressure of father’s disappointment and a crafty lawyer. The judge cuts in to remind her that she’s under oath and its unlawful to withhold information.

She’s practically pleading with Madison, “John was just _talking_ , about things he’d read. It wasn’t anything…”

“Describe to the court how you felt when your older brother told you that all of Genesis was a lie – that Man created God! Weren’t you shocked?”

Even if Martha wasn’t shocked, the spectators certainly are by the way Madison phrases that pronouncement. Burr’s shouting something about objections and leading questions, but no one else can hear him over the din. Then Martha, bless her, finds her voice.

“John _never_ said that! He was only _joking_ , and all he said was that if God created Man in his own image, then Man, being a gentleman, must have returned the favor.”

John thinks he hears some laughter from the press box. He tries to focus on that, instead of the waves of displeasure rolling over from the rest of the crowd.

Madison is smiling too, but it’ a terrifyingly self-satisfied sort of smirk that says she’s played right into his hand. “A seditious proposition nonetheless. And tell us what he said about the state of holy matrimony. What did you think when he compared that great state of grace to the base breeding of unregulated animals?”

John knows he should be worried about how hard Madison is pushing this, how much he clearly knows, but Martha looks like she’d about to cry. “He didn’t say…He didn’t _mean_ …I never said that! All he said to me was…”

Martha’s eyes lock with John’s for a moment, and he tries to convey how much he loves her, that he doesn't blame her. But it doesn't work, or maybe it does and that's why she loses it. Her body is shaking like its wracked with silent sobs, and her mouth is moving soundlessly, except for a few quiet squeaks. Distantly, he hears the judge ask if she’s ill, offer to send someone for a glass of water, but John and his poor sister can do is look at each other, helplessly.

Madison offers the – rather unnecessary, all things considered – opinion that she should be dismissed. John can feel Burr glaring at the prosecutor, like he suspects that this was all part of Madison’s plan. He’s clearly debating whether, in Martha’s present state, its worth arguing that he’s got a right to question the witness as well, but Laurens would rather lose the case than put her through any more of this.

“Please, just let her go.”

Burr sighs, then through clenched teeth says, “I’d like to have on record my objection to the state my opponent has left his witness in, which infringes on my ability to cross examine the statements which he has put into her mouth.

“But, for the moment,” there is a pause and both Laurens siblings look to him in anticipation, “I have no questions.”

They both breathe a sigh of relief. The judge dismisses her, and John wants to go pick her up and free her from the box himself. But of course he can’t, and it’s their father who comes to collect her and lead her outside. Poor Martha.

Poor him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the whole chapter from Hamilton's point of view, then realized it really needed to be from Laurens'. Don't worry, there will be lots of Alexandrian commentary next chapter.


	9. A View From the Press Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelica to the rescue of sisters everywhere, meanwhile Burr tries to call his first witness to the stand.

After the poor Laurens girl is ushered out, Angelica and Alexander turn to each other, and with a few muttered words, establish that someone had better follow her out the doors. Because pity the child who has to be comforted by _that_ father. She doesn’t seem to have any friends willing to fulfill the office, at least when it means coming up against the mayor. Angelica is the daughter of one politician, and the wife of another, so she doesn’t have any such qualms. She’s seen Alexander’s notes from the trial so far, and knows they’re twice as long and detailed as anything anyone else would make – if a little on the facetious side. She’ll be able to write a perfectly good article from them, which means she can duck out and orchestrate a rescue.

 

Mr. Laurens has taken Martha around the corner down the hall, but Angelica can still hear him, yelling at his daughter under his breath, as she follows them, “You _embarrassed_ me on the stand, being uncooperative to Mr. Madison like that.” Martha doesn’t respond. “For God’s sakes, pull yourself together girl! I need to get back in there, so I can be seen trying to preserve what’s left of our family’s respectability. Which you and your brother have done such a remarkable job of shredding to pieces.”

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Laurens.” Angelica knocks on the wall to announce herself before rounding the corner. He doesn’t seem pleased to see her, small wonder, but she heads off his affronted look, “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’m sure you’re familiar with my father, senator Schuyler. This whole affair must be just so horrible for you, I can’t imagine what I’d do if one of my sisters did something so horrid. If you’d like to head back in, I’ll sit with poor Martha for you.”

 

She’s actually surprised how quickly Laurens agrees, and heads back for the courtroom, “Thank you, Miss Schuyler.” She doesn’t correct him – better he thinks she’s Eliza or Peggy than the eldest sister who so scandalously ran off to London with Church and became a journalist.

 

“You were very brave in there, Miss Laurens. Martha, is it?” She nods. “I’m Angelica, Angelica Church.”

 

“But you said…”

 

“Well, your father wasn’t going away if I told him I was a newspaper woman, was he?” That almost gets a chuckle. “Besides, I haven’t lied, Schuyler _was_ my maiden name. And I don’t know what I’d do if one of my sisters created a scandal, because _I_ was, in fact, the scandal-maker. But they all stood by my elopement, just as you’ve done such a valiant job of standing by your brother.”

 

“You think so?” She looks up at Angelica, and for a moment, her eyes are shining with hope, before they drop back down to her look at her lap. “No, I said too much, John begged me not to, and now when they find him guilty it will be all my fault.”

 

“Hey, look up at me.” Angelica gently lifts Martha’s chin. “You did well, the best anyone could have under questions like that, and if John’s found guilty, it will be all down to Madison, not to you. I won’t have you feeling guilty now. Anyone could tell you didn’t want to be up there saying those things. I’ve half a mind to write my article about James Madison coercing his witnesses.”

 

Angelica expects a laugh, but she doesn’t get one. Apparently somewhere in there she said the wrong thing, because Martha turns away and is halfway back to despair by the time Angelica has closed her mouth.

 

“But father says John must be found guilty – and I don’t want him to, I don’t – but he’ll be ever so angry if John isn’t and then he’ll blame me for not being helpful enough. And either way, one of them will hate me.”

 

Angelica’s taken a liking to this girl, thinks her sisters would too. “I’ll tell you what. When this all wraps up, how about we cook up a plan to get you out of here for a few months? My sisters still live with my father in upstate New York, and its rather pleasant up there, in the late summer and early fall. Why don’t we arrange for you to come and visit. There’s a beautiful lake nearby, and I promise you it’s simply heavenly when the leaves start to turn colors.” She gives Martha a bit of a nudge, “And it’s a damn sight cooler up there, even now. What do you say?”

 

\---

 

Alexander makes it approximately thirty seconds into Burr’s case before he’s wishing Mrs. Church hadn’t left the room. No sooner has Burr called his first witness, than Madison raises an objection.

 

“May I ask on what grounds you object to Dr. Bakewell’s expert testimony?” Burr asks, continuing to usher his witness onto the stand.

 

“I’m simply not sure what relevance a zoology professor from Leicester’s testimony can have to this case.” Madison plays with equal – frustrating – nonchalance.

 

“If my learned opponent would allow me to begin questioning the witness – Your Honor,” Burr nods to the judge, with somewhat forced courtesy “– I am sure the relevance will immediately become apparent to us all. If my client is on trial for teaching Evolution, then any testimony concerning his alleged crime must be admitted.”

 

Madison, of course, stubbornly digs his heels in, “Irrelevant. Immaterial. Inadmissible.”

 

Having no one to grumble with, Hamilton starts leaving a commentary for Church in the margins of his notebook:

> ‘ _Madison sounds like a petulant child trying to get out of eating his vegetables – “They’re green, gross, and ghastly, and I don’t want them near me_.” ’

 

Burr sounds little more forceful this time, “If Mr. Laurens stood accused of murder, it would be an obstruction of justice to disallow expert testimony concerning the alleged murder weapon. I fail to see how my case differs.”

 

“And I fail to see,” responds the ingrate of a judge, “what the learned counsel is implying.”

 

This time, Burr sighs, like this whole business is giving him a headache, before spelling things out. The judge is either an idiot, Hamilton concludes, or willfully obtuse. Or possibly both – yup, that's the one. “Your Honor, the defense calls Dr. Bakewell as an expert witness on evolutionary theory. How can the jury reach a verdict on something they don't understand?”

 

Madison doesn't give the judge time to draw breath for a response. Alexander can’t help but add a few parenthetical _corrections_ to his notes:

> ‘ “Your Honor, I counter that the very law we are here to uphold prohibits such testimony” [ _except, apparently, when it comes from a twelve year old boy_ ]. “The good people of this state have been very clear that they do not want this Darwinian hogwash slopped around their schoolrooms” [ _which this, coincidentally, is not_ ]. “I will not permit these agnostic scientists to sully this fine courtroom by using it as a megaphone to preach their heresies into the headlines!” [ _As if he thinks I won't interview Bakewell and print it anyway, especially after a challenge like that!_ ]’

 

Alexander swears the judge is smirking as he tells Burr that his witness’ testimony has been ruled irrelevant. Burr smiles serenely back and calls a litany of impressive witnesses: the clergyman and naturalist Gilbert White, Charles Wilson Peale of the Philadelphia museum, even Benjamin Franklin.

 

Objection. Objection. Objection.

 

By the time they get to witness number ten, Madison isn't even letting Burr finish his introductions anymore, just the name, and then “Objection.”

 

When Burr goes silent after fifteen, Madison clearly thinks he’s won, but at this point, Hamilton’s sure Burr _must_ have some trick up his sleeve, and that Madison is playing right into his hands. This should be fun.

 

“As you can see, Your Honor, the Defense has brought to Mepkin – at not inconsiderable expense – fifteen of the most celebrated scientists and philosophers in the English-speaking world today, whose testimony you would dismiss out of hand. And every one of them will tell you, if only you’ll listen, that all John Laurens is guilty of is teaching his students a truth that is self-evident to any enlightened community of minds.”

 

Hamilton makes sure he's got that one down verbatim. Burr had to know those witnesses weren't going to be approved, probably didn't even bring half of them to South Carolina with him. He walked everyone through _fifteen_ witness objections so he could make that speech.

 

“I think you’re confusing your definitions of lawyer, Mr. Burr,” says the judge, whose patience seems to be wearing thin. “This is the courtroom, not the legislature, and we do not need to hear testimony questioning the validity of a law that is already on the books.”

 

“In other words,” replies Burr, “this court rules out any expert testimony on Charles Darwin’s _Origin of Species_ or _Descent of Man_?”

 

The tension is palpable. _Baited_.

 

“The court so rules.”

 

“Then will the court allow me expert testimony on the book known as the Holy Bible?” _Set_.

 

“Objections, Mr. Madison?”

 

“If the learned counsel thinks he can find argument for his client’s defense in the Sacred Word, then he can be my guest.”

 

And _Caught_ , if the look on Burr’s face is anything to go by, although Hamilton can't imagine where he's planning on going with this.

 

“Then I call to the stand one of the nation’s foremost experts on the Bible and its teachings,” he pauses for a moment, and then his next three words seem to unleash all the chaos of Pandora’s box upon the courtroom, “Mr. James Madison.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the named witnesses in this chapter are actual, 18th century natural scientists (a mixture of British and American):  
> \- Robert Bakewell was one of the first agriculturalists to implement and study selective breeding in livestock. His work was cited as an important influence by Charles Darwin.  
> -Gilbert White was a British clergyman and also a passionate naturalist, whose book "The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne" was incredibly popular.  
> -Charles Wilson Peale was a famous painter, but also a naturalist (and taxidermist, yuck) who founded one of the first natural history museums in the US.  
> -I really don't need to tell anyone about Benjamin Franklin, right?


	10. Head to Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dolly finally gets a chance to narrate, as Burr decides his only avenue is to try and beat Madison at his own game - the Holy Bible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been kind of a crazy summer, and ages since I last updated, but I think I'll have a bit more time to write now that school's back in session. And now we've hit the really fun part.

When Aaron Burr first calls her husband to the stand, Dolly Madison thinks it's a joke. From the sudden chatter in the gallery around her, it's clear most of the town finds it equally preposterous. Even the judge calls it unorthodox, and offers James the opportunity to decline to testify, but he wouldn’t be her husband if he weren’t willing to face a little hardship for the sake of justice.

 

“Your honor, this entire trial has been unorthodox. If my opponent wishes me to take the stand myself, then I shall gladly comply. But,” and there’s her James, “I shall not testify _against_ anything. I will testify, in the courtroom just as in a church, on behalf of the Holy Scripture.”

 

She almost think she hears the judge mutter, “On your own head then, sir” – faithless man – before instructing the bailiff to swear her husband in.

 

She’s dressed James well for court today, so it doesn’t even matter that he's had to take off his upper layers. Standing there – just shirt, tie and a pair of red and blue suspenders – hand on the Bible, he looks as all-American as she could have possibly hoped. It’s not normally the kind of shot she’d want the newspapers getting, but it certainly does make a pretty picture for the jury.

 

James takes the stand, confident and steadfast. Burr paces, prowling in front of him.

 

“Am I correct, sir, in calling on you as an authority on the Bible?”

 

“I don’t believe it’s boastful to say I’ve studied it as much as any man here, and tried to living accordingly.” That feels like rather an understatement, but she’ll trust him to know what he’s doing.

 

“And you could quote me, chapter and verse, from the King James?” If Burr’s trying to catch her husband out on his Biblical authority, he’s barking up the wrong tree.

 

“I have memorized a significant number of passages.” Always modest, her James.

 

“I don’t suppose you have a similar familiarity with the _Origin of Species_?”

 

“I can proudly say I have never sullied my mind with the pagan hypothesis of that book!”

 

“And you think, having not once cracked the spine on this book – ” Burr raises a copy of what must be _Origin of Species_ in the air, it’s well-worn, and Dolly wonders whether it's his copy, or Laurens’, “You think you have the authority to declare every word of it absolutely irreconcilable with the spirit of the Holy Scripture?”

 

“I don’t feel the need to concern myself with interpreting the spirit of the Bible any more than I do the spirit of a traffic law. The Word is meant to be followed as it is written, and that’s enough for me.” James earns himself a nice cheer from the crowd.

 

“And you don’t think any part of _Origin of Species_ might be reconciled with that?”

 

“I do not.”

 

“So then, on page 19, when Darwin says…” Burr is opening up the book, clearly about to start reading aloud from it, and Dolly glares at her husband until he coughs, to get the judge’s attention.

 

The judge steps in to remind the stubborn man, once again, that the work of Charles Darwin is not permitted in the courtroom.

 

“Alright then, we’ll play in your court” Burr snaps the book shut. “Mind if I borrow this?” he asks the bailiff, pointing at the court’s Bible. He picks it up and turns to go, then makes a show of turning back around, “Actually, do me another favor and leave this outside the door, would you?” Burr has the cheek to hand the poor bailiff his Darwin.

 

“Now then,” he rounds in on her husband, “this is the book on which you are an expert?”

 

“It is.”

 

“And you believe that every word of it should be taken literally?”

 

“Everything in the Bible should be accepted exactly as it is given there.”

 

“Okay then,” he flips through the book absent-mindedly, “lets take this place, here, where the whale swallows Jonah. Figure that actually happened?”

 

“The Bible does not say ‘a whale,’ it says ‘a big fish.’ ” This is as simple as a child’s catechism for James. Burr clearly hasn’t got a clue what he’s up against.

 

“Matter of fact, it says ‘a _great_ fish’ ” – Dolly winces, that’s petty – “but either way, question still stands.”

 

“I believe in a God who can make a man and make a great fish, and make them both do whatever he pleases.” A chorus of voices shout “Amen” from the gallery.

 

“Then can He make Mr. Darwin write his book? Or John Laurens decide to teach it?”

 

“Only to test us, Mr. Burr.” The mayor winces in his seat.

 

“Now, I recollect a story – I’m sure you will as well – about a man named Joshua and the way he made the sun stand still. Now that’s, equally true?” James nods to him. "Well, that is rather a neat trick, then.” He seems to ponder this for a moment. “A little more than a parlor trick, though, wouldn’t you say? Have you ever considered just what might happen to the earth when the sun stood still?”

 

“I can’t say that I have.”

 

“Or rather, how on earth – you’ll pardon the expression – the sun could stand still. Why, you’d have to re-order the whole cosmos. Or don’t you believe that it's the earth which moves around a static sun?”

 

James doesn’t seem to know quite what to say to that. “I believe in the Bible!”

 

“You don’t seem to hold much belief in the solar system.”

 

“The sun. Stopped.” Dolly is starting to see creases of tension at her husband’s temples.

 

“I didn’t realize we were putting Galileo back on trial as well. Now, in order for what you say has factually happened to occur – if Joshua really halted the sun in it’s place in the sky – then Galileo and Mr. Newton tell us that the earth must have stopped spinning on it’s axis: continents would have toppled over each other, mountains flown out into space by the inertia of their movement, and the earth, no longer following its orbit, careened straight into the sun and burn to a crisp. How did we all miss that bit of news?”

 

“We missed it because it didn’t happen.” Always steadfast in his belief, her James, even against this absurd barrage.

 

“Natural law says it must have happened. So must we now say that physics, every scientific discovery since Copernicus, contradicts the Holy Word? Return to a universe with Aristotle’s seven spheres?”

 

But James won’t be fooled by this heathen serpent. “Natural law is the creation of the Heavenly Father. I presume he may suspend it whenever he should wish to. Being its master he may change it, cancel it, manipulate it as he pleases.”

 

Burr is undeterred. “Listen to this: Genesis 4:16. ‘And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the East of Eden. And Cain knew his wife.’ What I’d like to know is where the devil _she_ came from.”

 

James speaks for all of them when he asks, “Who?”

 

“Mrs. Cain, of course. If in the beginning, there’s only Adam and Eve, and then Cain and Abel, where does this extra woman appear from? Did you never wonder about that? Whether somebody else was pulling off another creation over on the other side of the garden?”

 

“No sir! I’ll leave you agnostics to puzzle that one out.” James gets a slight chuckle from the gallery, but it’s not enough to really cut the rising tension in the room. “God may do as He pleases, and the Bible is sufficient to satisfy me.”

 

“I’m frightened by what it means for this country’s educational system if every good Christian embodies a similar…curiosity.” Burr, Dolly is happy to hear, does not manage to coax out a chuckle. “At this point, the book goes into a whole lot of ‘begats’: ‘And Aphraxad begat Salah; and Salah begat Eber’ and so on – I’m sure you don’t need me to read out the whole list. Now, these are pretty heavyweight, holy people, right?”

 

Neither Dolly nor James, from the look of it, has any idea where Burr thinks he’s going with a list of genealogy. What is there to disprove there?

 

“So would you mind telling me,” Burr continues, “how they went about all this ‘begatting’?” He receives a confused look in response. “I mean did people ‘begat’ in those days in about the same way they get themselves ‘begat’ today. There weren’t a whole string of virginal conceptions? – well, I mean there couldn’t be, lineage of the patriarchs and all that.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Burr actually goes there. He declares that _sex_ therefore is a component of the Bible, and asks to hear James’ opinion of the _Biblical evaluation_ of _sex_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to put Galileo back on trial (or at least read about it) I highly recommend Bertolt Brehct's Life of Galileo, which features some fascinating arguments between an ambitious Galileo and some inquisitive if distrustful clergy.


	11. The Agnostic's Catechism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burr questions Madison, and the tide begins to turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. This is the best part of the play. As such, there's definitely more quoting and less paraphrasing going on here, because some phrases are just too good to pass up on.

All sense of order in the courtroom dissolves.

 

Burr gets Madison to call sex ‘Original Sin’ and then tries to make some point about whether or not all that sinning had any effect on the patriarch’s holiness, but no one – John included – can get past that fact that Aaron Burr just said the word ‘sex’ in a courtroom. Twice. While talking about _the Bible_.

 

The Judge calls for order, and when the crowd finally calms down, demands to know where this is going and what relevance it has to the case. All Burr will say is that if he isn’t going to be allowed to question his own witnesses, the judge had better let him question the one he's got however he likes. It feels dangerously close to contempt of the court, and Laurens is starting to wonder whether this is really the right man for the job, or whether Burr’s going to throw it all away to make a vindictive point.

 

Madison, with a nonchalant dignity that makes John want to scream, tells the judge, “I’m perfectly willing to sit here and let Mr. Burr dig his own grave. All he’s done is plead the case for the prosecution through his contempt for all that is holy.”

 

And then, instead of John, it’s Burr yelling. “Objection, objection, objection!”

 

There are confused and suspicious mumbles from the crowd, as Madison asks on what grounds. “Is it possible that something _is_ holy to the celebrated agnostic?”

 

“Yes.” Burr starts to speak, and slowly John remembers not just why this is his lawyer, but the reason he’s on trial in the first place. Why he had to take a stand. Why he had to teach.

 

“The individual human mind, the holiest pinnacle of creation. In a child’s power to master the multiplication table, there is more sanctity than in all your ‘Amens’ and ‘Hosannahs’ and ‘Holy, Holies’. An idea is a greater monument than a cathedral, and the advancement of man’s knowledge is more of a miracle than any wine turned from water or the parting of the seas! And you ask me to sanction the halt of progress because Mr. Madison frightens us with a fable?

 

“Gentlemen, progress has always been a bargain, and you’ve got to give something up in order to get it. I don’t know, maybe God’s the man behind the counter up there, saying ‘Sir, you can have the telephone, but you’ll have to give up privacy, the charm of long distance.’ ‘Ma’am you may vote, but you’ll lose your right to the comfortable lack of an opinion’ and for the miracle of the airplane, we sacrifice clear blue skies and the mystery of birds in flight.

 

“And Darwin? Darwin led us to a hilltop, where we can look back and see the path from whence we came. But on the way there, we had to shed some baggage, we had to let go of our undying faith in the pleasant poetry of Gensis. You cannot pick and choose your benefits from the tree of knowledge and yet stand proud and declare that you have never tasted of its fruits.”

 

“We _must_ not abandon faith!” yells Madison, the second that Burr gives him room to talk. “We must _never_ compromise our faith!”

 

“Really?” asks Burr, “Then why did God plague us with the power to think? With these infernal brains that see so far beyond the limitations that you say he has drawn for us. Mr. Madison, why do you deny the one faculty that raises us beyond the other creatures on the earth, that lifts our intimacies to a higher plane than – what did you call it? – the base breeding of unregulated animals?”

 

Madison begins, with outraged solemnity, “We are – ” but Burr cuts him off.

 

“What? Elephants are larger, horses are stronger and swifter, butterflies more beautiful,” he pauses, to clap his hands together over something buzzing around his ear, “mosquitos more prolific. Even the simple sponge is more durable, but we? We have smarts. Or can a sponge think?”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” says Madison, mustering the shadow of a facetious smirk. “I’m a man, not a sponge.” An hour ago, it would have earned him roars of laughter, now there’s only a slight, rippling chuckle. Laurens lets himself start to hope.

 

“Do you think a sponge thinks?” Burr presses him, and Madison, just seems lost.

 

“If the Lord wishes a sponge to think, then it thinks.”

 

“And does the Lord grant man the same privileges as he grants a sponge?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then this man,” Burr goes quiet, pointing at John and imbuing every syllable with rage, “wishes only to be accorded the same privileges as a sponge!” A little louder now. “He wishes to _think_!”

 

It isn’t all that different from what Burr said back near the start of the trial, when he was cross examining poor Howard, but this time, the crowd is leaning towards _his_ side. Some of them even start to clap.

 

And with that sound, it’s like something breaks in Madison. “But your client is wrong!” he yells, “He is deluded! He has lost his way!” but now he sounds less like an imposing orator and more like a child, whining that it isn’t fair he lost the footrace.

 

“It’s sad that we haven’t all been blessed with your positive knowledge of Right and Wrong.” Burr only lingers a moment in the condescension before he moves on, takes a rock off the hands of one of his witnesses, and asks Madison how old he thinks it is. Burr (or rather, his silent witness) says 10 million years, Madison says 6 thousand:

 

“A fine Biblical scholar, Bishop Usher, has determined for us, through careful calculation of the ages of the prophets set down in the Old Testament, the exact date and hour of the Creation. It began in the year 4004 B.C., on the 23rd of October, at uh –” and really, he should have just stopped there, “at 9AM!”

 

“And was the Eastern Standard Time?” Burr asks him, and now, most of the gallery is laughing. “Or Rocky Mountain? It couldn’t have been Daylight Savings, because the _sun_ wasn’t brought into existence until the fourth day.”

 

Madison swallows and looks skyward, “That’s correct.”

 

“And that first day?” Burr keeps on him, “That was a…normal, twenty-four hour day?”

 

“The Bible says it was a day.”

 

“But what do you think? Your expert opinion on creation-length days?”

 

Madison’s almost stuttering now, he’s so unsure. “I do not think about things that…I do not think about.”

 

“Do you even think about the things that you _do_ think about?” Burr’s just taunting him now, and John thinks he might even feel a little bad for Madison, if he didn’t hate him so much. “So it’s possible that that the first day was, say, twenty-five hours long? There was no way to measure it, no way to really tell?”

 

Madison swallows, looking pale, “It’s…possible.”

 

“Ah, so you interpret that the first day recorded in the Book of Genesis could be of indeterminate length. It could have been twenty-five hours, it could have been…thirty. Or – a month! Or a year, or a hundred? Or nine million, nine hundred, and ninety-four thousand years!” Burr thumps the rock down on the witness stand in front of Madison.

 

Madison tries to argue, but everyone in the courtroom knows he’s been beat. The crowd goes wild, and the judge is red in the face calling for order.

 

Madison demands to know why Burr attacks the Bible, and Burr demands to know why Madison has the right to assume scriptural authority over the whole of the nation.

 

“The Bible is a book. It’s a good book, but it’s not the only one.”

 

“It is the revealed word of the Almighty. God spake to the men who wrote the Bible.”

 

“And how can you be so sure that God didn’t ‘spake’ to Charles Darwin?”

 

“I know because God tells me to oppose the evil teachings of that man.”

 

“Well what have we here?” Burr declares, “Gentlemen, meet the ‘Prophet from Virginia!’ Let’s extend the testaments and insert the Book of Madison in between Numbers and Deuteronomy. We’ll even add it to the blesséd Constitution!”

 

The crowd laughs, and Madison frantically tries to begin a speech, “My friends – Your Honor – Ladies and Gentlemen – ” but Burr is already calling for the witness to be excused. As the judge dismisses the courtroom, he continues, calling after the retreating crowd, “You all know what I stand for! For the truth of the Book of Genesis! Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges…”

 

He goes on and on until no one is left to hear him but John, and Burr, and his wife.

 

The Bailiff brings John back down to his cell.


	12. Losing the Battle…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A verdict and a sentence are delivered.

The scene isn’t much different in the courtroom the following afternoon, where Burr and Laurens, Madison and his wife, and that pain in the neck reporter, Hamilton from the _Post_ , sit waiting for the jury to file in with a decision. Madison is trying to snooze, his finished box-lunch on the table, while Hamilton pokes at the bear with a stick – Burr is too far away and too uninterested to find out what he’s saying.

 

“Mr. Burr,” Laurens asks, in a voice like one of his shyest pupils, “what’s going to happen to me?”

 

Burr sighs, not unkindly, and looks at his young client, scared and barely out of the schoolroom himself, “What do you think is going to happen, John?”

 

“They’re going to send me to prison, aren’t they?”

 

“They might. Or they might not. When they started this business, I don’t think any of them figured how big it might get. And it’s making a lot of people mighty uncomfortable. But you can’t be certain, either way.”

 

Laurens looks over at Madison. “ _He_ seems so sure. Like he knows exactly what the verdict’s going to be.”

 

Burr look at Madison too. “Oh, I’m sure he thinks he does. When you’ve been a lawyer long enough, you get a pretty good idea which way the wind is blowing in a jury box.” He looks back at Laurens, “But you don’t always know what that wind is gonna bring.”

 

Laurens looks back at him, a question in his eyes. “Just remember,” Burr tells him, hand on his shoulder, “It doesn’t really end with what the jury decides.”

 

Lauren, perhaps, looks even more puzzled than before. Burr ignores him, and stretches out in his seat, looking out at the courtroom. “When I get back home, I’m going to get myself an easy case. An open-and-shut, sure-thing, make the money roll in kind of case.”

 

Sometimes, Burr muses, lawyering feels a bit like horse racing: riding like mad ‘round the track at Saratoga, and knowing exactly where you’ll end up, but never the sort of shape you’ll be in when you do. And it’s tempting, so very tempting to jockey for the dependable, reliable sort of steed that’ll consistently place, but never, ever get that glorious, crowd-pleasing kind of win. But America likes to think she’s the land of the underdog, and time and time again, Burr finds himself giving in to the allure of the upstart, the hunger-in-eyes-and-in-his-veins Long-shot, who’ll either make a triumphant upset, or crash-and-burn spectacularly.

 

And sometimes, it feels more like riding a merry-go-round, where who gets the brass ring is entirely up to chance and the whims of judges and juries, whatever he does. And then every once in awhile, once or twice in a blue moon, he finds the kind of case that feels less like a racetrack and more like the chase scene in a Wild West Show, where the gambling’s not business men’s money but the lives of good people. And all he knows is that his horse has _got_ to win.

 

A radio-man comes in, nods hello to Hamilton, and starts setting up wires to a microphone. The judge, passing through in the opposite direction, seems less than pleased. The Mayor runs in, and Laurens stiffens at the sight of his father, but the older man pays them no attention, carrying a telegram in his hand, and pulling the judge aside for a rushed, whispered conversation. Burr’s on his way to chat with the radio man, when Meeker rushes in, followed by a crowd of spectators, hurrying to take their seats before the jury enters. The mayor is the last to sit down.

 

\---

 

Martha couldn’t go back to the trial, she just couldn’t, so she sits at home, alone in the parlor, with her ear pressed against the radio and the volume turned most of the way down to keep anyone out on the street from hearing. The broadcast begins just after the bailiff has called the court back to order:

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Isaiah Thomas, reporting to you from the courthouse in Mepkin, South Carolina, where the jury is returning from the courtroom to render a verdict in the infamous Monkey Trial case. The Judge has just taken the bench and within just a few minutes we will know whether John Laurens has been found guilty or not.

 

The jury foreman is called to rise, and asked whether they have made their decision. The Judge reads it out, “The jury’s decision is unanimous – John Laurens is found guilty as charged!”

 

Martha lets out a sob, as the courtroom audience reacts and the sounds on the radio turn to indecipherable chaos.

 

A sharp, brazen voice cuts through over the hubbub, one that sounds foreign – northern – but familiar all the same, “Step right up to ride the train back to the Middle Ages – You only thought you’d missed the Diet of Worms.”

 

The Judge’s voice rises above that one, yelling for, “Order, Order! This court is still in session!”

 

The crowd has just quieted, and the Judge is about to pass his sentence, when Burr raises a question of procedure, and calls her poor brother up to the stand to speak.

 

“You Honor,” says John, and Martha can hear the trembling in his voice, “I am not a public speaker. I don’t have the eloquence of some of the people you’ve heard these past few days. I’m just a schoolteacher.”

 

Someone interrupts, then, shouting, “Not any more, you ain’t!” and Martha knows she will seethe the next time she hears that voice, standing up in Church or a town meeting.

 

“I _was_ a schoolteacher,” John corrects. “But I…I feel I have been convicted of violating an unjust law.” She can hear him sounding stronger, now, “I am not ashamed of it, for it is no shame to rise against injustice. And I will continue, as I have done, to oppose this law, and ones like it, in any way I can.” She hears a shaky breath and then, when it is clear he will say no more, a smattering of applause, small but steady, and Martha feels herself smiling in surprise.

 

The gavel calls people to order once, twice before the applause begins to die down.

 

“John Laurens,” the judge begins, and Martha holds her breath, “this court has found you guilty of violating Public Act Volume 37, Statute Number 31428. This violation is punishable by fine and/or imprisonment.” There is a pause here, and Martha wonders why he has to drag it out so long. “Since there is no previous violation of this statute on record to set a precedent in sentencing…this court deems is proper,” the wait is agonizing, “to sentence John Laurens…to pay a fine of…one hundred dollars.”

 

Martha lets out a breath and does not know if it is in relief or despair.

 

It is only one hundred dollars! One hundred dollars which John does not have – not after being out of work for months and with Father having cut him off completely. It’s only one hundred dollars – leniency – and yet he’ll be jailed, unable to pay it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this! I got separated from my copy of the script for a while moving around, and then life kind of caught up with me, but between this and the next two chapters, I've finally made it through the entire plot of 'Inherit the Wind.' Yay!


	13. …Versus Losing the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Madison seems to suffer from a great loss in the court of public opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: See note at end of chapter for details on Archive Warning

Madison is fuming, “Did your Honor say one hundred dollars?”

 

“That is correct.” The judge won’t look him in the eyes, “Now, as this seems to conclude the business of this trial – ”

 

Madison cuts him off, “Your Honor, the prosecution takes exception! When the issues are as dangerous and fundamental as an attack on our right to the scriptures, the consequences must be of a sufficient scale to – ”

 

“I object!” shouts the gloating, bastard Burr, but Madison plows right through him.

 

“– To make an example of the transgressor and show to the world that we – ”

 

“Just a minute!” yells Burr, again, and this time his objection is joined by a pound of the gavel. “The amount of the fine is immaterial, whatever my learned friend wants to say on the matter,” the studied civility of that phrase is revolting, “John Laurens will not pay a penny of it, if he has to take it all the way to the Supreme Court. Will this court allow thirty days to prepare our appeal?”

 

The judge grants the appeal, fixes bail, and moves to adjourn, but Madison stops him, reaching for the remarks he has prepared to read to the court. Burr, of course, raises another point of order and won’t let him make them on record. The judge moves to adjourn, with the promise that the courtroom will remain open for Madison’s remarks.

 

But when the gavel dismisses the proceedings, the spectators scatter – standing, collecting their things, shouting to each other across the courtroom. A hawker starts shouting about lemonade, or eskimo pies, and Madison can feel the audience slipping beyond his grasp, even as the judge tries to recall their attention. The radio man looks ready to leave without broadcasting what was meant to be his triumphant speech.

 

“My dear friends,” he calls out, “Your attention, please!” A few of them quiet down at the sound of his voice, a few more at a cold look from Dolly, and slowly, they shush their fellows into some semblance of order. The attention is more dutiful than worshipful, but Madison knows he can work them, once he’s got them. “My fellow citizens, and friends of the unseen audience,” he begins, “From the hallowed Mount Sinai to our shining city on a hill,” the radio man is waving at him, signaling something, but Madison can’t tell what and loses his place. “…Our city on a hill, we belong to a sacred tradition and to the laws of our Lord, passed down from antiquity in an unbroken chain, which binds and strengthens us in our – ”

 

“Excuse me. Mr. Madison, sir?” The radio man is right beside him now, interrupting. “If you would…uh…point yourself more in the direction of the microphone.”

 

“Yes, yes, of course.” Madison scrambles to regroup, to catch his audience again, but he knows he’s losing them in this room, and on the radio – well, they can only listen if they can hear. “…Which binds and strengthens us in our Christian society. And in this courtroom…” People are leaving now, in the front row. “…And in this courtroom, we have vindicated – ”

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the radio man sounds much more confident in his smug interruption, this time, standing there right in front of the microphone, “our program director in Boston advises us that our time here is complete. And now we return you to our studios for the “ ‘Matinee Musicale.’ ”

 

And there goes the audience, hundreds of listeners across the country, and the courtroom is emptying out faster by the minute.

 

“…We have vindicated – ” He tries again, “…We have vindicated…We have –” Madison opens his mouth to continue, and nothing comes out.

 

\---

 

It’s only when Madison goes quiet that the rest of the courtroom does as well. All anyone can do is stare, as it looks like he’s choking, silently on his own words. Then suddenly, the sound comes rushing back, and everyone’s screaming as he drops to the floor.

 

The bailiff catches him on the way down, of course, but he still falls, all the way down, and his papers – the neatly prepared speech meant to be castigating John scatter all across the floor. His wife rushes to him, calling out. John’s father calls for a doctor, and the Judge clears everyone but Mrs. Madison and the bailiff away from the man lying on the courtroom floor.

 

They carry him out, towards the doctor’s office across the street, and as they lift him, the great statesman comes to. Sort of. He’s speaking again, in a strange, detatched sort of voice, and at first, John thinks it must be his speech, the one scattered all across the floor.

 

It isn’t though. John recognizes it, as Madison continues – he’s read this speech before. Heck, he’s heard his father recite parts of it, drilling the words into him across the dinner table. It’s Madison’s first inaugural.

 

And John’s hated this man, hated him with everything in his soul this past week. But being stuck on the past like that, well…John can’t help but feel sorry for him.

 

\---

 

“How the mighty fall.” Burr puts a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “And how painful it can be when you don’t expect it. Or even when you do. What’s it got to be like, to know the most important things you’ll ever be or do are behind you, and to carry on trying to be someone after that?   You and I, we don’t have that problem – certainly not right now.”

 

John looks up at him, worry and compassion in his eyes. “But did you see his face? He looked awful!”

 

Burr’s about to comfort him, when Hamilton strolls his way over.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that one. He’ll be alright –

Just needs an hour or ten to forget

The stench of sour victory,

Cloying and choking its way down his throat;

Bitter medicine for a man who’s used to writing the scripts.”

 

Burr shoots the interloper a warning look, then turns back to his client.

 

“The thing I don’t understand, sir. The thing about Mr. Madison – have I won or have I lost?”

 

That question is easier for Burr. “You won.”

 

“But the jury…”

 

“This jury? They’re twelve angry men who’ve never been more than ten miles outside this town. But the rest of the world? Millions of people, who heard what you said today, they’ll say you won. Papers all over the country will tell them over tomorrow morning’s coffee that John Laurens took on a bad law and made it look a fool. And in a month or so – ”

 

Laurens snorts and turns his face away. “A month or so longer of moldering in jail, another trial, and then what? I haven’t got a job – or a room at the boarding house any more, I’m sure.   Once we’re done fighting for justice, what am I left to do?”

 

“Whatever you want.”

 

“Wherever and whenever you’d like too.” And there comes Hamilton, butting in on Burr’s motivational speech once again. “You’re the who of the hour, so as long as you give the _Post_ an exclusive interview – inclusive of your whys and wherefores – we’ve got the five W’s of our story and you’ve just made bail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: So, technically, the death takes place offstage between this chapter and the next, but Madison has a heart attack during his post-trial speech and is carried out. The following chapter opens with the announcement of his death.


	14. The Fall of a Giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the world is shaken and various people take a stand for what they believe in.

Alexander almost doesn’t believe it, when the judge returns with the news. James Madison, dead? Who’d been such a constant presence in his life…so often such a thorn in his side. It’s hard to know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it, or mourn.

 

How do you write an obituary

For a man who should have been dead twenty years?

The perpetual post-president,

The statesman emeritus, with a dead-man’s grip;

Holding his past and our present

At a standstill, caught up in his comforts

And obsessed by a narrative subject to internal revision.

How can I tell his story when he’s dictated it himself?

 

Hamilton turns to Burr, expecting some solidarity.

 

“James Madison died of a busted belly.

You know what I thought of him,

And I know what you thought.

Let’s leave the lamentations to the illiterate!

Why should we weep for the Bible-beating bastard?”

 

“I’m getting damned tired of you, Hamilton.” Burr is seething, and Alexander has no idea why. “You’ve no more right to spit on his religion than on mine. Or my lack of it. A great man is dead and his widow is right outside that door.”

 

Hamilton laughs, “Him?”

 

“Don’t pretend you’re any better – so Madison tried to spin the world in his own direction. You’ve never pushed a noun against a verb except to blow something up.”

 

“Well at least I’m consistent, Burr. Is there any defense you wouldn’t mount?” It’s Burr’s turn to be confused. “I charge the learned council with contempt of conscience. Self perjury – equivocation in the first degree.”

 

“Why – because I refuse to erase a man’s lifetime when he’s not yet cold in his grave? I disagreed with Madison, but he’s also done great things.” Hamilton tries to interrupt, but Burr holds up a finger to stop him, “Who are we to discriminate between the sinners and the saints? History will obliterate the details of our lives, lay us bear and paint us with all our mistakes. So maybe, he’s the villain in your history, but who’s to say you aren’t the same in his.”

 

Hamilton can’t believe it. “So every argument is equal and I have play nice now, just because he’s died?”

 

“A giant once lived in that body, and if James Madison got lost, perhaps its because he was looking for God too high up, and too far away.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” crows Hamilton, stalking his way towards Burr. “We’re growing an odd crop of agnostics this year. Shall I quote the celebrated atheist in the obituary?”

 

Burr slams his papers together and makes to leave. “Write whatever you damn well please!”

 

\---

 

Martha rushes into the courthouse, hope in her heart and suitcase in her hand. With the other hand, she clutches a dog-eared book to her chest, cover turned inward so no one on the street can read it.

 

On her way in the door, she nearly bowls over the defense lawyer, but she hardly pays him any mind. “John!”

 

“Martha! What on earth are you doing?”

 

“I’m leaving, John. I’m getting out of father’s house – I don’t care where I have to go.”

 

“But, Martha…” John takes the suitcase from her, goes to sit her down, but she won’t have it.

 

“It’s his fault, John. He’s the reason they all went after you like that, father and his campaigning. And he made me help, John – he made it my fault too.” John shakes his head at this, but Martha goes on. “Here’s your book, John. I should have given it back before, with your clothes, but – I read it, John. Cover to cover. I didn’t understand it, I don’t know if I ever could. And I don’t know that I like thinking its right, either. It isn’t comfortable.” She hands the book back to him, “But I don’t think its meant to be. I don’t think an idea has to be comfortable to be important. Or to be good.

 

“And if the world isn’t all about Our Father in heaven and our father at home, then I don’t really know what it looks like. But I think that maybe I’m ready to find out.”

 

John sets his book down and takes her hands, “I don’t quite know where I belong in the world now either, Martha. But maybe together, we can figure that out.”

 

Martha gets an idea, then, “Miss Schuyler – sorry, Mrs. Church – she’s one of the reporters here, from London…or New York – anyway she’s got sisters there, upstate, and she said I could visit with them, if I ever needed to…get away. I’m meeting her, over at the station and…I hardly think she’d mind if…”

 

“Well then,” says John, picking up Martha’s case, “I suppose the two of us have a train to catch. Goodbye, Mr. Burr, Mr. Hamilton – I’ll see you on the way to New York.”

 

\---

 

On his way out, Burr notices the book Laurens left sitting on the defense table. He picks it up, meaning to return it, then notices the Bible, resting just across the room. Burr sets them both together, and leaves them on the bench: God and Darwin, sitting side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Madison definitely got the short end of the stick here. [Not so] Fun Fact: Madison was in serious financial trouble after the presidency (having his stepson run the plantation for him while he was in Washington didn't work out so well for him...as we can only hope will hold true for a certain other president with a 'blind trust'); he didn't publish any of his papers in his lifetime, so that Dolly would be able to sell them to provide for herself after he died; and while all the founding fathers were pretty obsessed with legacy and posterity, he was particularly for doctoring letters (both sent and received), even going so far as to forge other people's handwriting - which is where Hamilton's quip about narrative subject to revision comes from. Brady, in the original play, is the Also-ran, so I made Madison into the Has-been, which I think also allows for some of his 'intransigence' as perceived by Hamilton to be a cross-generational conflict in place of North/South or Federalist/Dem-Rep in the musical.
> 
> This is it for the 'Inherit the Wind' plot line, so I'm closing out this fic - which doesn't mean there aren't ideas bouncing around in my head about the Laurens siblings hanging out with Hamilton and the Schuyler sisters in New York. If I ever get around to putting that on paper, I'll post it as a sequel.


End file.
